Someday Soon Page 29

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Needles of hot spray beat into Ty’s face. He turned toward the nozzle in blazing defiance to the scorching temperature and blasting water pressure, uncaring, unfeeling, and desperate for something to wake him from his nightmare.

  Because it was a nightmare. A trough. A black hole of betrayal.

  He couldn’t think about it; he could think of nothing else.

  When his father had bitten out those damning words, Ty’s brain had sluggishly refused to hear the intent. Cammie, his co-star? A project for the two of them? For the barest of moments he’d surged with joy. The idea, still not fully coalesced, brushed some hidden desire within him, and he saw the possibilities.

  He’d half turned toward Cammie. To what? Embrace her? Tell her he’d changed his mind, that this chance was all he wanted? This chance with her?

  One look at her face and hope withered and died. Shock, misery, and guilt—first and foremost, guilt—were plainly stamped on her beloved face. She was all Samuel accused her of. All that, and more.

  And then he saw with pure, painful vision the scope of her betrayal, and the depth of his own gullibility. Every touch. Every gesture. Every whispered word of love was a lie.

  Lies. Bitter, bitter lies. All of it.

  She said something then. Something about loving him, of rejecting the offer. But Samuel pooh-poohed her. “Rejected the offer?” he bellowed from the doorway. “Hardly. We’ve all just been waiting for her to get you to sign. If she couldn’t pull it off, she was out of the role. Period.”

  Ty couldn’t think. Could scarcely breathe. Vaguely, he remembered closing the door in his father’s face, then staring down at the unfamiliar stack of pages in his hands. The script. Rock Bottom. A pretty good description of how he felt at that particular moment.

  He’d ordered Cammie out of the house. Not in the loud, belligerent voice of his father. In a quiet, deadly tone that sounded menacing even to his own ears.

  “I need to explain…” she’d stammered.

  “You had weeks. Get out of my sight. I never, ever want to see you again.”

  He’d turned and walked through the cabin and out the back door into a warmish night filled with flickering stars and a yellow moon, the air full of familiar and welcoming brackish scents off the bay. Stumbling down the steps to the ground, he’d picked up the axe, swinging it in an arc toward the chunk of fir already sitting on the stump. Shards of wood flew like shrapnel all around him. Setting a second piece of wood in its place, he shattered it just as quickly. He couldn’t recall now how much wood he had split, nor how long he’d chopped and flailed away in the moonlight before exhaustion took over.

  He’d sensed once that she was standing at the back windows, but he hadn’t looked. When he finally finished, gasping and spent, sweat pouring in rivulets down his face, neck, and back, he’d glanced up to see the windows blank. Stumbling, swiping at the welling perspiration, he’d climbed the back steps, thrown open the door and staggered inside. He was alone.

  Now, he stood in the shower, a punishment and a cleansing all in one. He wanted to die. He wanted to bellow like a wild boar. He wanted to cry.

  He ran the tank out of hot water. One moment, he was facing a warm, but cooling, stream; the next, icy spray stung him full in the face. Slamming off the taps, he leaned an arm against the tiles, head bent, water dripping off his wet hair and down his limbs. Those limbs were quivering. He felt ancient and used up and so very lost.

  Ten minutes later, he flopped facedown, naked, atop the bed. He smelled Cammie’s scent all around him. Lifting his head, he blindly looked for her, realizing even as he did so that the aroma emanated from the bedding where she’d lain.

  He couldn’t sleep here. He didn’t want to anyway, with so many recent memories crowding his brain, making him ache in a way he hadn’t believed was possible since those terrible days after Gayle’s betrayal and death.

  Feeling as old as Methuselah, he stumbled up the stairs to the couch in his office, throwing a blanket over his shivering body. His last conscious thought was that for once oblivion was reached without the help of alcohol.

  A strata of intense pink clouds layered the eastern horizon outside Cammie’s window at the Goosedown Inn. She stared blankly at the beautiful sight, watching silently as dawn burned through the clouds, changing them to faded peach and finally white with faint gilded edges. Bayrock was glorious this morning. Water glittered. Seagulls swooped and cried plaintively. Sailboat spars were white arrows pointing skyward against a sky growing bluer by the moment.

  She’d grown used to this small town the last few weeks. She’d known she would have to leave soon, had thought and talked about it ceaselessly. But now that the day was here, she felt miserable, depressed and frozen into immobility. She couldn’t go. She couldn’t go without Ty. She just—couldn’t.

  But now he would never leave with her. She’d made sure of that. And even though she should have known this would be the only ending possible, some silly, hopelessly eager part of herself had simply charged ahead and made plans without doing the requisite “reality check.” She’d made herself believe there was a chance for them. Now she knew there wasn’t.

  So, here she was. Time to check out. Time to return to the life she’d put on hold.

  With a heavy heart, she turned away from the spectacular morning splendor and concentrated on the task at hand. Last night, she’d packed her things like an automaton, aware only that Ty’s wrath would not abate, his forgiveness would not come.

  Now she examined her meager amount of clothes, refolding them one last time into the overnight bag that had been her companion all these weeks. Staring down at the bag, she was overcome with misery. It sapped her remaining strength, and she sank onto the bed. Last night, she’d stood at Ty’s cabin door, one hand on the knob, fighting the urge to rush to the back deck and desperately beg him to forgive her. She’d silently wished for help—some kind of divine intervention!—but it was no use. The fates were against her.

  If fate were a woman, I wouldn’t be in this situation.

  “Hah,” Cammie said on a gulp. She’d made all the choices herself.

  Twisting on her heel, she surveyed the cozy room through dull eyes. The Goosedown Inn boasted rooms wrapped in tiny rose-printed wallpaper and fluffy beds designed to prove the inn was as good as its name. Antique furniture, restored to its original luster, was tucked beneath angled ceilings. It was gorgeous and warm and wonderful, and Cammie had slept as badly as she ever had. Tossing and turning, she’d reviewed the events that had led her to this fate and had come up with the same conclusion time and again: It was her own fault.

  And it was time to leave.

  With limbs that felt held down by weights, she moved through the motions of getting herself ready: a shower, a brisk brushing of teeth, a touch of makeup. Dragging on her jeans, she ran fingers through her wet hair, tousling it dry. Still on its hanger, her white shirt waited for another wearing. Cammie adjusted the collar of her white shirt, supremely conscious of the soft, yet sharp scent of detergent from its most recent washing at Ty’s cabin…

  Sucking in a tortured breath, she ordered herself not to think anymore. Thinking was bad. Thinking brought on fresh pain.

  With difficulty, she thrust her arms through the sleeves of her shirt. More difficult yet was the task of examining her own taut reflection in the oval mirror above the dresser. Unhappiness covered her face. With an effort she pulled her lips into a smile, but it looked forced, which it was.

  What am I going to do? she thought in despair. What am I going to do?

  A knock on the door caused her to whirl around. Joy surged through her.

  Ty!

  Yanking on the handle, she flung the door wide, then stood in shocked dismay to see her nemesis, Samuel Stovall, standing on the threshold.

  “You were expecting someone else,” he observed without rancor.

  “Well, yes, I was hoping,” she admitted.

  “Aren’t you
going to invite me in? We’re neighbors.” He inclined his head. “I’m right down the hall from you.”

  “How nice.”

  “Don’t be nasty, Camilla. Clearly, Tyler’s as disappointed in you as he is in me, otherwise you wouldn’t be enjoying the hospitality of this fine establishment.”

  “Disappointed? That’s a little tame for what Ty thinks of us, I’d say.”

  Ignoring her, he swept on. “If we put our heads together, we can come up with a mutually beneficial solution.”

  “No! No, no, no! Don’t tell me anything more about Ty! I was a fool to listen to you in the first place. I shouldn’t have come here. It’s just made everything a thousand times worse!”

  “Oh, don’t be hysterical.” Samuel frowned at her pessimism. “This isn’t the end.”

  “It is for me. And it should be for you, too. Ty doesn’t want either of us in his life. We took care of that once and for all.”

  Samuel’s brow lifted. “I’m surprised you’re shouldering some blame.”

  “I know what’s my fault,” she said bitterly. “Believe me.”

  “Camilla, it’s going to be okay.” His tone was surprisingly tender. “Ty just needs some time to cool off and think things through. He’s got the screenplay now. He’ll read it.”

  Cammie’s lips parted. “You leave me speechless.”

  “He will,” Samuel insisted. “Tyler’s curiosity will get the better of him, if nothing else. He’ll stop being angry at you.” Samuel waved her fears away as if they were so much nuisance.

  “You don’t understand how hurt he is. How betrayed.” It was an effort to force the words past her lips. Every breath she took felt like a knife in her heart. “He’ll never believe I didn’t care about the role in Rock Bottom. If I were him, I wouldn’t believe it, either.”

  “It won’t matter what he thinks,” Samuel dismissed. “He’ll get there in the end, all the same.”

  “Get there?”

  “Where he’s meant to be. To the job. To his home. He can’t stay here forever. You know that, and he knows it, too. He needed this incentive. He won’t blame you.”

  “You don’t understand anything!”

  He shook his head emphatically. “I might have agreed with you before, but not now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She was scarcely listening. This was just the last scene to a very bad film, and she wanted it to be finished and done with. She wanted to close the door in Sam’s face and roll the credits. It was time to vacate the premises.

  “Ty loves you,” he said matter-of-factly. “That was plain. He’ll get over this infantile rage because he’ll have to. Let him have his fit. Get it out of his system. Then he’ll come looking for you.”

  “My God. You are so deluded!”

  “Realistic.”

  “Well, he’ll have to find me in Los Angeles, because that’s where I’m going. I blew it, Samuel, no matter what you think. If you want to hang around and try to change his mind, be my guest. But it hasn’t happened in ten years, so I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

  “Camilla, you can’t leave!”

  His arrogance never ceased to amaze her. “Watch me.”

  “I need your help!”

  Cammie attempted to close the door in his face, but when he stuck a foot in the crack, she uttered a muffled curse, tossed up her hands in exasperation, then turned to the remnants of her belongings which were scattered across the rumpled bed.

  Following her inside, Samuel said, “He may have had time to read Rock Bottom by now. All we need to do is go see him. He won’t want to admit how good it is, but he’ll know. He’s too much of a professional not to. Camilla…” Samuel grabbed her arm, attempting to prevent her from packing.

  Cammie stiffened and sent him a freezing glare.

  “Do you love my son or not?” he demanded, switching tactics.

  “I love him enough to respect his choices.”

  “Oh. Ouch.” His lip curled. “Then, let me ask you this: Do you think he’s completely happy being a hermit up here in the Canadian wilderness?”

  “It’s hardly the wilderness,” Cammie muttered, stuffing her bag and straining the zipper as she yanked on the tab.

  “Is he completely happy?” Sam pressed.

  “You’d have to ask him.”

  “I’m asking you.”

  Cammie gave Samuel Stovall her coldest glance. He was the most aggravating human being she’d ever had the bad luck to run across. Yet, it was hard to stay completely furious with him at all times. He was too juvenile to allow it! Too self-serving, in a sophomoric way that made her want to scream and pull her hair out.

  Still, he was ruthless, too, and, she knew by experience, heartless at times. “Stay away from me,” she warned. “I don’t like the way you treat Ty, and I don’t like the way you treated my mother.”

  “If you won’t go see him for me, or for Tyler, go see him for yourself.” Samuel was perfectly serious. “You don’t have to like me, Camilla, but you can’t deny that some of what I’ve said is the truth. He loves you, and you love him. Tyler’s type of love is—er—more substantial than my own.” This admission was made with an inclination of his head, to which Cammie lifted her brows in surprise. Concessions were not Samuel Stovall’s way. “You can’t turn your back on that kind of love. It’s up to you, because Ty’s pride won’t let him come to you now that you’ve left. Do it, Camilla. Do it today, before it’s too late…”

  “I can’t.”

  “You have to,” he said in his most matter-of-fact tone. “Or you’ll kick yourself the rest of your life.”

  She didn’t want to listen to him; she didn’t want him to be right. But there was resonance in his words that couldn’t be denied, and now, two hours and a dozen cups of coffee later, Cammie stood outside her rental car, which was parked, once again, in front of Ty’s cabin. Her heart beat strong and heavy, and sweat formed on her upper lip and between her breasts. The weather was downright warm, and she felt hot and feverish, full of fear.

  She was surprised she’d listened to Samuel Stovall, of all people, but sometimes the truth slipped from the lips of those you least expected. Still, there was something strange about Samuel’s attitude. Something that bothered her. And it wasn’t just the fact that he had a huge stake in her success with Ty. It was something else.

  But she couldn’t think about that now. She couldn’t think period. Her mouth was dry and her brain whirled with fear. She had to get through the next few minutes, one way or another.

  Boldly, screwing up what little courage she still possessed, Cammie strode through the gate and up Ty’s walkway, rapping loudly on the door. He might not be home. He might refuse to answer her summons. Good Lord. He might do a lot of things she couldn’t face, and her bravado was so fragile she was afraid she would break into a million pieces if he so much as frowned at her. But she had to take this chance. In that, Samuel Stovall was one hundred percent correct.

  The door suddenly swung open. Cammie stepped back, her breath sweeping in on a gasp.

  Tyler stood there, his expressions as cold and hard as granite, his gray eyes meeting hers in a narrow stare that spoke clearly of his disgust in finding her on his doorstep.

  “I—couldn’t go—without talking to you,” Cammie stuttered. “I know there’s no explanation, no excuse. But I love you. I love you. I really do, and I don’t care about anything but you and I never have. Don’t—please, don’t—turn me away. Oh, Ty, I love you so much!”

  Cringing inside, Cammie gazed at the man who held her happiness within his hands. Her aquamarine eyes misted with the eloquence of her feelings. Ty’s hands hung loosely at his sides, and she belatedly realized that he held Rock Bottom in one. His gaze traveled the path of her own, to where the source of their contention lay. Slowly he lifted the manuscript, holding it as if he were about to read it.

  “Have you—” Cammie began.

  “Yes,” he cut her off.

  Cammie held her b
reath. There was nothing more to say anyway. He’d read the screenplay. She waited for his assessment.

  “My father was right. It’s good.”

  He sounded so thoroughly disgusted at that particular turn of events, it was almost comical. Cammie exhaled in a rush of hope. Indicating the screenplay with a jerk of her chin, she said, “It’s not why I came to Bayrock.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  “May I—come in?” she asked tentatively.

  He hesitated for a tense moment, then stepped away from the door. Cammie crossed the threshold into the now familiar cabin. Home, she thought with a lump in her throat. Only it wasn’t her home and was never likely to be.

  Linking her hands together, Cammie stood stiffly in front of the fireplace. The beauty of the late-spring day slanted through the windows facing the bay. Eyeing the sailboats dotting the rippling water, Cammie said, “I couldn’t just leave. I know you ordered me out, but I had to try to—explain.”

  “There’s nothing to explain.”

  “Yes, there is.”

  “I understand.”

  “No, you don’t,” she insisted.

  “Cammie…” Ty’s voice was husky with repressed emotion.

  Surprised, she gazed at him with dawning hope. “You’ve forgiven me?”

  “No.”

  “No?” she choked.

  “I mean, there’s nothing to forgive. I don’t care what motivated you to come to Bayrock and find me anyway. I’m just glad we ‘reconnected,’ as you say. And I’ve been worrying all morning that you’d already left. I wouldn’t blame you,” he rushed on, while Cammie tried to interject. “I was a bastard last night.”

  “No, you weren’t!”

  “I wanted to believe the worst. I did believe the worst. And it was a hellish night, I’ll tell you. But this morning, it just didn’t make sense. You haven’t been faking the feelings of these past few weeks together; nobody’s that good of an actor! Oh, Cammie…” Ty crossed the room in three swift strides, cradling her close. “My love,” he murmured brokenly.